


Don't Let Go

by mangochi



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:18:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangochi/pseuds/mangochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones is kidnapped and Jim has to get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, I did this for a prompt on tumblr like ages ago, I thought I posted it here? I guess not????

Bones is up and out of bed before Jim can do much more than roll on his back and give a low groan of satisfaction.

"Fuck," Jim tells the ceiling, in a feeble echo of his enthusiastic litany just seconds before. "Bones?"

"Gotta go to work." Bones pauses while buttoning his pants and bends over, ruffling a hand through Jim’s sweaty hair affectionately. "Get some sleep, okay?"

"Nooo," Jim complains, heaving himself onto his side and clutching at Bones’ shirt stubbornly when the man tries to put it on. "No, Bones, stay. Just a few minutes."

"I can’t," Bones says, but he sounds at least a little regretful when he pries his shirt out of Jim’s hand and pulls it on over his head. "I’m already behind on clinic hours, so if you still want to go on that vacation early….."

"Yeah," Jim says sullenly, watching Bones tuck in his shirt. Bones’ hair is still mussed and crazy from Jim’s hands knotting in it, and he suddenly has a vision of Bones’ head between his legs, his hair tickling the inside of Jim’s thighs as he suddenly tightens his hands on Jim’s ass and pulls him up-

"-dinner," he realizes Bones is saying, and he blinks up befuddledly. "What?"

Bones squints down at him, exasperation warring with amusement in his expression. “I’ll pick up dinner on the way back,” he says again, slicking his hair down with a smooth professionalism that Jim will never be able to imitate. “Okay?”

"Okay." Jim reaches out again and catches Bones’ wrist, tipping his face up and giving his best plaintive stare. "See you later?"

Bones looks up at him, his eyes softening, and leans over, planting a solid kiss against Jim’s temple. “See ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, and then he’s gone.

Jim dozes then, burrowing into the sheets that still smell like Bones, and when he wakes, the room is dark. It’s quiet, and he raises his head from the pillow, grimacing self-consciously at the trace of drool at the corner of his mouth. The chrono tells him it’s been a couple of hours, and the window’s black when he glances at it blearily.

"Bones?" he calls out, in case Bones is lurking somewhere, the bathroom maybe. "Hey, man, you here?" He swings his legs over the side of the bed and snags the first pair of underwear he sees, hanging over a lampshade where one of them threw it hours ago. He’s not sure who it belongs to, really, but he pulls them on anyway and goes in search of his pants.

He finds them flung, bizarrely, under the kitchen table, and he fishes his comm out of the back pocket. There aren’t any missed calls, and Jim frowns at the glowing screen. Bones doesn’t pick up on the first ring, like he usually does, or the fifth, which he _always_ answers, and now Jim’s really worried.

He phones the hospital first and confirms that Bones left the clinic on time. “You’re sure? Did he look okay?” Jim asks, clutching the comm close to his ear.

"He looked fine. A little stressed, maybe, but you know. It’s not exactly new."

"Stressed?"

"Well, a bit more than usual. I haven’t seen his friend before, either."

Jim’s stomach drops, his hand tightening on the comm. “Friend?”

"He was waiting for Dr. McCoy in the lobby. I only remember because I offered to page the doctor, but he declined. A cadet, I think. Tall. Brown hair." There’s a thoughtful pause. "Looked pissed off, but I’m not one to judge."

"Did he leave a name?" Jim asks intently, mentally scanning through lists of acquaintances, enemies, participants of a bar brawl gone wrong. "His voice, what did it sound like?"

"Hey, I don’t know, man," the receptionist says defensively. "Dr. McCoy called him something, though, I think……Phil? Finn?"

Jim feels his heart stop for a single, agonizing second, and when he speaks again, he doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice. “Finney? Ben Finney?”

"Yeah! Yeah, that was it. Finney." The receptionist hesitates, then asks carefully, "Should I call someone?"

"No." Jim rakes a hand through his hair distractedly, trying to think past the pounding in his chest and the worry choking his mind. _Shit, he’s got_ Bones. “No, don’t call anyone.”

"But-"

Jim hangs up and sets the comm down on the table, a little harder than is probably necessary. Ben fucking Finney. He should have _known_ , he should have seen this coming- the bastard never got over Jim getting him kicked out on possession and distribution charges last year.

"Fuck," he says out loud, starting to panic. He’s gotta, he’s gotta do something, Finney’s got Bones, he’s got _Bones_ , and hell, Jim’s so scared that he can’t even fucking move-

His comm lights up and Jim grabs it before it stops vibrating on the first ring, fingers fumbling at the screen. “Who-“

“‘Lo, Kirk,” Finney’s smooth voice drawls out, casual and slow. “Suppose you’ve noticed, then.”

"You son of a bitch," Jim says, his voice low and shaking. He squeezes the comm so tightly that he loses the feeling in his fingers, his other hand grabbing the back of the kitchen chair. "Where is he?"

"Who, your little doctor friend?" There’s a thump on the other end and a muffled groan, and Jim sees red. "Not so little, though, you should have seen how many doses it took to get him like this."

"You _bastard_ -“

"McCoy’s fine, Kirk. For now. So calm your ass down and listen to me." The last three words are sharper, edged with insane anger, and Jim freezes, counting the seconds that pass before Finney speaks again. "See, we’re going to play a little game here now. A little hide and seek."

"Finney," Jim says quickly. " _Ben_ , please, I’m begging you, man. Don’t hurt him.”

"My God, did you just say please? Couldn’t quite catch it."

"Please!" Jim yells, desperation seizing him. "Fucking please, Ben, just let him go. I won’t call the cops, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t-"

Another dull sound of impact and a low groan.

Jim clenches his eyes shut and inhales raggedly. _Bones_.

"Whatever I want, huh?" Finney repeats thoughtfully. "Yeah, well, we were getting there anyway. So here’s what. I’ve got a score to settle with you, Kirk, and your friend here doesn’t have to get hurt unless you fuck up. So here’s a tip: don’t fuck up." There’s a short pause before Finney continues. "I want you to find me, that’s all. Like I said, it’s just a game. You like games, don’t you? Since you’re all. So. Smart."

"You’ve got to give me something, Finney," Jim says, low and fast before Finney can cut him off. "A hint. _Something_.”

"How about you shut up," Finney says mildly. "This isn’t supposed to be fair, you know." Another pause, a faint click. "You might want to check your inbox."

Jim looks around wildly for a datapad and seizes one from the nightstand. His fingers shake as they slide across the screen, and he sucks in deep breaths, trying to lower his heart rate. He’s no good to himself like this, no good to anyone, and he has to keep it together. Long enough to find Bones and rip Finney apart, at any rate.

There’s a new message waiting for him, an image file, and John opens it with apprehension, bracing himself for whatever he may see.

It still punches the air out of his stomach, his eyes widening and his gut clenching painfully. Bones is sitting in a plain wooden chair, ankles bound to the legs and arms pulled out of sight around the back. There’s a strip of tape over his mouth, another around his waist, and- Jim’s hands squeeze the edges of the PADD so hard that his knuckles whiten- there’s a bruise spanning Bones’ left cheek, a small trickle of blood drying beneath a cut along his temple.

His face is turned up towards the camera, eyes squinting a little from the flash, and Jim stares at the screen, concentrating on the dazed look in Bones’ face. It’s something to think about, something to focus his attention on, something to keep him from falling apart right there on the spot.

"You still there?" Finney’s voice says, and Jim snatches up his comm again.

"Yeah, still here."

"I hope that’s proper motivation for you. Oh, wait, he wants to say something…." Finney’s voice fades away, and Jim hears the sound of harsh breathing scraping across the other end.

"Bones?" Jim drops the PADD and hunches over his comm intently. "Bones, you there?"

"Jim," Bones croaks, and it’s him, it’s his Bones, alive and sounding pissed as hell, but _he’s okay_ , and Jim squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before he can speak again.

"I’m going to find you, all right? I’m going to find you, I swear. God, I’m so sorry-"

"Jim, listen," Bones says, and Jim shuts up. "There’s….he gave me somethin’…..can’t think straight. Ah, shit…"

Jim holds his breath, but when the comm clears again, it’s Finney’s voice he hears. “

"Oh, and, by the way, Kirk. Doc here’s got about thirty minutes before his heart gives out, so you better hurry."

"You-"

"Tick tock," Finney breathes, and he hangs up.


	2. Chapter 2

_Tick tock.  
_

He can still hear the whisper, the unsuppressed glee in Finney’s voice.

Jim jams the comm vindictively back in his pocket, grabbing the first shirt he sees and trying not to falter when he realizes it’s Bones’. It still smells like him, like aftershave and warm skin, and Jim curls his fingers briefly in the fabric before pulling it over his head.

There’s a beep from his pocket and he curses, rummaging for the comm. There’s a text message glowing on the screen, black text on gray.

**<** **Come alone, Kirk >**

Another beep, another message.

**< I don’t play nice with others>**

"Son of a bitch," Jim mutters, pressing his thumb against the attached file. It’s the picture of Bones, bleeding and trussed up to the chair, with a timer in the corner ticking down from twenty-nine minutes.

Jim takes a deep breath, takes another, forces himself to look at the rest of the picture. The floor beneath the chair is gray and smooth, striped by shadows cast by an overhanging light.

He raises the screen closer to his face, staring, searching. A white light, tinged blue, an inorganic source that wouldn’t come from any academic facility. A wild thought crosses his mind that maybe Bones isn’t on campus at all, and he kills it immediately, throttles it back into place in the shadows of his mind.

Because in his own twisted way, Finney follows the rules. Bends them, maybe, pushes them, changes them almost beyond recognition, but they’re still there. “Keep it a secret” was one, when Jim found his stash behind the bathroom mirror. _Just between you and me, Kirk._

Jim broke that one, and now he’s paying for it.

If he alerts security, Bones will pay for that. This is the rule, the only rule Finney’s set this time, and he’s not breaking it again. Not with these stakes.

 _Think_ , Jim snaps silently. _Think, damn it._ Gray floors….could be any number of offices in the administration buildings. But Finney’s insane, not stupid, he wouldn’t risk a move like that.

_Think, Kirk. C’mon._

Twenty-seven minutes, forty-two seconds.

 _Think_.

Jim’s moving before his mind can catch up, grabbing his jacket and slinging it on as he charges from the apartment. He’ll figure it out when he hits the ground level, he decides. Better to be moving and doing _something_ than sit around on his ass and watch the clock tick down.

But when he’s run down the four flights of stairs and finds himself standing in the warm night, he’s nowhere closer to an answer and he’s down to twenty-six minutes.

Twenty-six minutes. That’s barely enough time to sprint the length of campus- he’s got no time to make a wrong move, no time for error. Jim closes his eyes, breathes in. Breathes out. Empties his mind a little with every exhalation.

Steel gray floors, the white glare of industrial lighting.

_"I don’t like this, kid."_

_"Hey, you don’t have to, okay? But it’s required, Bones, and I’m not gonna let you fail this course."_

_"I’ve always hated flying, you know that-"_

Jim’s eyes snap open.

……………..

"You’re a tough one, aren’t you?" Finney cocks his head and Leonard stares at him, squinting a little through his swelling right eye.

"Fuck off."

"Now, that’s not nice." Finney slides off the stool and walks towards Leonard, hands in his pockets. Casual as can be, the bastard. "How are you feeling, doc?"

Leonard drops his head, stares down at his knees. His head is pounding, pulsing faster than his heart sitting heavy in his chest, and he swears he can almost feel the poison racing through his veins. As if reading his thoughts, Finney flips out the small vial of antidote, crouching and slipping it into Leonard’s pocket.

"You think he’s going to show?" Finney muses, looking up thoughtfully at Leonard from his squat. "Smart fella, that Jim Kirk. He should figure it out soon enough, don’t you think?"

"He’ll come," Leonard rasps, raising his head with difficulty. "He’s stupid like that."

Finney grins up at him, brash and shining and a horrible parody of Jim’s smile. “Twenty minutes, doc.”

………………

Jim’s running.

Arms pumping at his sides, two inhales, one exhale. His heart pounding in his chest, counting the seconds, speeding up time.

The hangar. The fucking shuttle hangar, that’s where they are. That’s where Bones is, that’s where Finney will be, he’s gotta go now, now now _now-_

_There’s not enough time._

Jim sucks in a deep breath, falters briefly when a stitch pulls sharply at his side. He’s sticky with sweat, hot and cold all at once, and people are staring. Watching. He wants to tell them all to fuck off, because they can’t do a thing for him or Bones.

_How the hell did it come to this?_

He can still feel Bones’ lips against his forehead, warm and promising.

_"See ya, darlin’._ _”_

"Fuck." Jim’s voice cracks, more air than sound, and he swallows the pain and keeps on running.

……………….

Each breath comes harder now, shallower, more painful. Leonard tips his head back, feels his sweat cooling along his neck as he stares up at the lights. The smell of grease and steel makes him feel sick to the stomach, makes him dizzy just thinking about the shuttles surrounding him, silent giants that do nothing to make him feel more at ease.

Jim’s the only reminder of the open sky he needs, as idiotically dramatic as it sounds. _Near death experiences do that to a man_ , Leonard thinks, and huffs out a breathless chuckle.

"Something funny, doc?" Finney asks from the shadows. He’s grown progressively quieter as time passes, nerves and tensions running high, and Leonard shakes his head, counts the beats of his slowing heart between each breath.

"Nah," he answers simply. "Just thinking."

…………………

The shuttle hangar doors are locked when Jim reaches them, the windows dark and everything silent.

"Finney!" he shouts. This area of campus is deserted at night, all dark buildings and empty walkways. "Bones!"

Silence, but for the ringing of his own voice.

…………………

"You hear that?" Finney murmurs, his breath hot against Leonard’s ear. He tightens his arm around Leonard’s neck, his thumb catching the corner of Leonard’s jaw. "He’s come for you."

"Told ya," Leonard croaks, smiling tightly. His lip throbs sharply, dry and cracked from the fever, and he tastes his own blood.

He hears Jim shout again, a tinny voice beyond the steel doors, and opens his mouth automatically to respond, but Finney smothers him with a hand, reaching around with the other to give his throat a warning squeeze.

"Not a word, doc," he whispers, and drops the hand around Leonard’s throat. Seconds later, Leonard feels the cold nudge of a phaser muzzle against his temple. "Easy now."

………………….

Jim yanks hard at the hangar doors again, digging in his heels. He doesn’t realize he’s growling deep in his throat until he has to stop and take a breath.

"God _damn_ it.” He shoves hard at the doors, hears them rattle ineffectually, and backs away. Eight minutes, forty-five seconds. He hasn’t stopped counting since he saw that picture of Bones.

Jim stares at the building, chest heaving, then begins to jog, circling clockwise around the walls. There’s a loading bay on the far side, close to where the pier juts out into the harbor. The doors are smaller, the locks less complicated, he’ll kick the damn thing down if he has to.

The doors are locked, but he glimpses a small window beside it, a square pane three feet wide that Jim thinks he can just barely squeeze through. He yanks off his jacket, pins it against the glass before smashing it with an elbow. The pieces clink lightly to the floor on the other side and Jim shakes out his jacket, bunching it around his fist and knocking out the rest of the glass around the frame before climbing through.

It’s a tight fit, but he makes it through and lands as quietly as he can on the smooth gray floor. He’s come out behind one of the shuttles, its shadow shrouding him as he straightens and presses against the hull. The metal is cool against his sweating back, and he leans closer, sliding around to peer around the shuttle.

The hangar is dark, except for a narrow strip of lighting that throws everything in sharp shadow, the contrast almost dizzying. “Finney,” Jim says experimentally, listening to the sound of his own voice echoing off the walls. “Bones?”

Silence.

Jim takes a cautious step out. He feels the air stir and ducks without thinking, dropping as the crowbar clangs against the shuttle. Finney recovers quickly, and Jim rolls to the side hastily, barely avoiding the next blow as it slams into the ground beside him.

Finney’s laughing as he backs away, letting Jim stagger to his feet. He looks more unraveled than the last time Jim saw him, his hair cut short and the lines of his face grown harder. He steps forward and Jim backs up, raising his hands to show they’re empty.

"Come on, man," he says, talking fast and low. "I’m here. I’m here, okay? Just let him go."

Finney cocks his head in mock consideration, his eyes over-bright. “Cute,” he says at last, and swings again. Jim doesn’t pull back fast enough this time, and the end of the crowbar catches him in the shoulder, sending him stumbling back. His arm is numb, his shoulder a screaming white pain that radiates through his chest as he lurches away, backing into another shuttle.

"Finney-"

"Shut up!" Finney rages, sweat dripping from his face as he advances. "Shut the fuck up, Kirk!" He takes a step closer and Jim forces himself to hold still, braced against the shuttle wall.

"I’m going to hurt you," Finney continued, almost conversationally now. "I’m going to hurt you real bad. Then, you’re going to watch your doctor friend die. And I’ll kill you after that, how does that sound? Real nice of me, isn’t it?" He laughs and Jim swallows hard, clenching his fists against the metal behind him.

"She left, you know." Finney lets the end of the crowbar drag along the floor, creating a clattering sound that echoes uncomfortably around the hangar. "Julie. After what you did."

"No," Jim says. "No, you did that to yourself, Ben." He watches the crowbar as Finney lifts it off the ground, balancing it in both hands. "You had it coming. If it wasn’t me, it was gonna be someone else."

"But it _was_ you,” Finney spat, his face twisting. “It was fucking you, wasn’t it?!” He swings the crowbar, and Jim pushes off from the shuttle, twisting to one side and grabbing the end of the bar. Finney yanks back instinctively, and Jim shoves forward, jabbing the end of the crowbar into Finney’s stomach.

The man bends over, cursing, and Jim sweeps a leg out, knocking into the back of Finney’s knees and sending him crumpling to the floor. The crowbar falls and rolls away beneath the shuttle, out of sight.

"This what you want, huh?!" Jim reaches down, grabs the front of FInney’s shirt, and hauls him to his feet roughly. "Me and you?" He slams Finney back against the shuttle and bares his teeth in a grim rendition of a smile. "Should have left Bones out of it."

Finney grins back. “Not about you and me, kid. Just you.” Jim doesn’t see the fist until it’s smashing into his stomach, and he releases Finney, lashing out blindly. It’s more luck than anything that lands the blow on Finney’s cheek, but it snaps the man’s head around nevertheless, a spray of blood splattering the floor.

"Gang wasn’t- wasn’t too happy about losing the drugs," Finney gasps, staggering back and grabbing Jim’s wrist as he goes for another punch. "Or the money."

Jim rolls with the right hook, but it still hurts a bitch and he tastes blood where his teeth cut into the inside of his cheek.

"They want your head, and frankly, I ain’t too opposed to it myself." Finney dives low, and Jim realizes too late that he’s going for the crowbar. He drops to the floor, grabbing at Finney’s legs and yanking him back. Finney’s torso emerges from beneath the shuttle, clutching the crowbar, and Jim grunts when it cracks him across the shoulders, his forehead banging against the floor and sending white sparks flying through his vision.

Three minutes, six seconds.

Jim pushes himself off the floor, blood in his eyes and dripping from his cut mouth. He tightens his grip on Finney’s pant leg, pulling himself up and elbowing down hard on Finney’s stomach.

Finney loses the crowbar and curses, twisting sideways to get at it, and for a moment, everything’s a tangle of limbs and hoarse yelling. Jim gets a knee to the sternum, but he finally manages to slide up behind Finney, hooking an arm around his neck and flipping him over onto his stomach.

"Fucking- let _go_ -“

"Shut up," Jim grates, and slams Finney’s head into the floor. FInney’s hands scrabble uselessly, reaching back and clawing at Jim’s arm. Jim digs his fingers in Finney’s hair, pulls his head back and slams him down again.

This time, Finney stays down.

Jim lies there for a second, panting and hurting in places he hasn’t thought about since his last good bar brawl. It’s done, it’s finished, and he feels a flush of triumph for all of two milliseconds before he remembers.

"Shit!" He pushes himself up on shaky legs, wiping blood and sweat from his eyes as he looks around wildly. "Bones!"

He’s gotta be here, there’s no other explanation. Jim runs around the shuttle, ducks and sweeps his gaze beneath the rest of the row before returning to the runway again.

He turns the corner, skids to a halt, and he sees Bones, tied to a chair with his arms behind his back and his head hanging low and- _Oh God, he’s not moving_.

"Fuck, no, no, no-" Jim drops his knees behind the chair and fumbles with the knots around Bones’ wrists first, ignoring the way the wires cut into his fingers as he yanks the bonds away and tosses them to the floor. Bones’ arms fall limply to his sides and he starts to tip forward, until Jim reaches around and holds him back, scrambling to his feet and moving around to face him.

"Bones," Jim whispers frantically, propping up Bones’ sagging head and patting at his damp face. "Bones, Bones, Len, c’mon- _please_ -“

Bones twitches, his throat working in a dry cough. Jim presses a hand to his forehead, hisses at the fever burning beneath his palm. “Bones, you….you’ve gotta help me out here. What did he give you?”

Bones’ eyes flicker open, glassy and dazed. “Jim….?”

"Thank God." Jim allows himself a moment to lean his forehead against Bones’, relief shuddering through his veins. "I’m here. I’m here. You’re going to be okay."

"P….Poc…"

"What?" Jim leans closer, until he feels Bones’ feeble breath stirring against his ear.

"P…ocket," Bones rasps, and his eyes slide shut.

Jim pulls back, curses, patting his hands around Bones’ jacket. Something clinks in his inner pocket and Jim slides his hand inside, wraps his fingers around something small and smooth. “Got it. Bones, I’ve got it.”

"Syringe……Finney…..bastard’s stuck in the…fucking Dark Ages…"

Jim chokes back a hysterical laugh and squeezes Bones’ shoulder hard before running back to Finney’s prone form. He’s tempted to give the son of a bitch another kick for the hell of it, but Bones is down to one minute and counting. He drops to his knees, rolls Finney over and pats him down. There’s an old-fashioned syringe tucked in his waistband and Jim stumbles back to the chair with it, uncapping it with his teeth and spitting it out.

"Bones, stay with me," he mutters, loading the syringe with shaking hands. "Stay with me, c’mon-" He doesn’t have Bones’ hands, he knows, he _knows_ , but God, please let him be enough-

Bones hisses softly when the needle eases into his arm, and Jim murmurs soothingly, pressing a careful kiss against Bones’ bruised cheek. “You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, running his fingers through Bones’ hair and cupping the side of his neck. “You’re going to be okay.”

"Ha." Bones seems like he’s fading, eyes fluttering closed and open again. He leans against Jim’s chest, though, face buried in Jim’s shoulder, and Jim counts the heartbeats beneath his fingers. They’re steadying, stabilizing, and he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

"Sorry," Bones breathes, and Jim does laugh this time.

"What for?" he chuckles quietly, circling his thumb over Bones’s jaw. His skin is warm, tacky with drying sweat, and he’s _alive_. “I should be…..I should be the one.” He falters, and Bones shakes his head slightly, bumping against Jim’s ear.

"Shouldn’t have gone…..with him. He said…..said he’d-"

"Shut up," Jim says fiercely. He grabs Bones’ face with both hands, pulls him back far enough to kiss Bones’ forehead, his eyes, both corners of his mouth before seizing him in a tight hug. "Shut up- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Bones- God, I love you. I love you so much, if he had- if he had-"

"Idiot," Bones says, his voice muffled and wrecked, and Jim feels the stir of dry lips against his neck. "Love you too." His hand slides up over Jim’s back, takes up a surprisingly strong grip on the fabric of his shirt. "Knew you’d come…..told him you would, stubborn bastard you are…."

"Of course I came." Jim turns his face blindly into the crook of Bones’ shoulder, taking a deep breath and finally feeling his own pulse slowing. "Let’s go home."


End file.
